


Naked Jarod

by Highlander_II



Category: The Pretender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-19
Updated: 2008-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/pseuds/Highlander_II
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarod explores some unanswered questions; Sam the sweeper is on a mission to deliver an urgent package. Written for The Pretender Virtual Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked Jarod

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Jarod, Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, Sam the Sweeper, and Mr.  
> Raines all belong to Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle, et al. I have  
> borrowed them and returned them all unharmed. All other characters belong to me.

He reached to turn off the water, the knob responding with a squeak. The  
stream wilted to a trickle, then was gone. Pushing the vinyl curtain aside, the  
shower steam escaped, racing to fog the mirrors. He stepped from the shower,  
reaching for a towel, and caught a glimpse of his disrobed form in the hazy  
mirror on the back of the door. Slowly the condensation lifted, revealing a true  
reflection of his muscular, tan body. He studied the lines and forms, muscles  
and sinews. The contours of his hips, melding into his thighs, and narrowing to  
his ankles, were nearly flawless. Tight, rippling abs rolled into hardened  
pectorals, smoothed into rounded shoulders.

Why would this be wrong? Being naked. The human body is beautiful, ever  
present in art and literature. He tilted his head to one side, watching as he  
shifted his body into the pose of Michelangelo’s David. The contraposto  
curving from shoulder to hip of classical sculpture pulled a DSA image to his  
mind.

__

Jarod -- 2/9

_For Centre Use Only_

_"Jarod? Jarod?" an accented voice called from just outside the open  
door. "Jarod, come out now."_

_A young Jarod, about age twelve, listened to the voice, but made no effort to  
move. He was transfixed, amazed, at the realism of the biology he had studied.  
His body looked similar to, but not exactly like, the drawings. He was confused  
and intrigued: confused by the inaccuracies; intrigued by the discovery._

_The accented voice drew nearer, but Jarod was oblivious. He did not even hear  
the gasp that preceded the heavy robe that fell across his shoulders. "Jarod,  
you must never reveal your body to anyone," the accented man calmly  
lectured._

_"But why, Sydney?"_

_A slight wheeze accompanied the remark originating from the exterior door,  
"Because it is evil. You must be punished for your wrongdoing."_

_Two large sweepers entered the room, grabbed Jarod by the arms._

_"Sydney!" the boy called._

_"Raines, he’s just a boy. He doesn’t understand."_

_"Sydney, you know the rules," Raines spoke around his cigarette._

_The rest of Sydney’s pleas were left unnoticed as Raines left the room  
behind the boy and the sweepers._

* * * * * * * * * *

"Jarod, what’s wrong?" Sydney asked of the solemn boy retreated  
into the corner.

No response.

"We have work to do." He coaxed Jarod from the corner and into the  
hall.

Jarod pulled the blanket he had dragged from the bed tighter around himself.  
Only his head and feet exposed.

"I think we can leave this behind." Sydney tugged at the blanket,  
but Jarod would not relinquish his thin film of security. "All right, but  
only for today."

A blank stare met his words. What had Raines done to Jarod to cause such  
withdrawal? Now he would have to spend time returning Jarod to his previous  
state, which could have been spent on other work.

 

****

Act I

**Day 1 -- Monday**

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

The room was full of life and chatter in the moments before the beginning of  
class. Students, perched on stools, arranged supplies: brushes, paints,  
charcoals, pastels, canvases, easels. A slender woman stood near the front of  
the room, scratching an image onto a canvas as preparation for this morning’s  
lesson. She looked up from her work and noticed the man in the doorway.  
"I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come in," she apologized as she  
approached, wiping the charcoal from her hands onto her over-sized art shirt.

"It’s all right. I’m sorry I’m late. This is my first day here and  
I got a little turned around. The campus is quite large," he responded.

"It is that." She smiled.

"By the way, I’m Jarod Calder."

"The new model, right. Very nice to meet you. I’m Kris Richards and  
welcome to my figure drawing class."

"Thank you." Nervously, he watched her push the windowless door  
closed.

Ms. Richards pointed to another door, behind the heavy burgundy drapery.

"You can change in there."

Jarod nodded and entered the room. He emerged a moment later dressed only in  
a robe.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"As I’ll ever be."

"Great. You know the drill."

Actually, I don’t, but I’m really good at faking it, he thought. He heard  
Ms. Richards explaining the day’s lesson, actual comprehension of any of it?  
Maybe a quarter.

He untied his robe and slid it from his shoulders and to the floor. This was  
the craziest thing he could remember doing, or at least the most revealing. But,  
it was necessary. The Centre had kept him covered and hidden for so many years.  
He needed to break free.

He stepped around the curtain, making eye contact with none of the students.  
Catching the butterflies painfully making their presence known, he reclined his  
slender, disrobed form onto the padded table and set his pose for the hour-long  
class.

* * * * * * * * *

He was beautiful. The long, slender legs, and not even a hint of a tan line,  
muscular chest, strong arms, and not to mention, that sexy goatee; this  
assignment would be a challenge. How was she supposed to do a body like that  
justice? "Focus," she told herself. "You are an art student and  
accustomed to depicting beauty." She steadied herself on her stool and  
poised the charcoal over the canvas. She was amazed at the ease with which her  
drawing came to life. Somehow her black charcoal had even captured the light in  
his soft, brown eyes.

"That is beautiful work, Lea," Ms. Richards commented on the  
drawing.

"Thank you," Leandra Marshall responded and returned to her work.  
The image was still there; she had not imagined it. Never before had she created  
a work of this magnitude; she was even more surprised it was done in her weakest  
medium. Watercolors were generally her media of choice, but Mondays were set  
aside for practicing charcoal.

* * * * * * * * *

The hour was up; Jarod slid from the table and stepped behind the curtain to  
retrieve his robe. He had survived the first class with his humanity intact.  
Silently leaving the classroom, he slid into the art model changing room, an  
amenity he did not remember seeing in other colleges or universities.

Exiting the room, much more comfortable in black jeans and a white  
button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he caused quite a commotion  
in the hallway. Books lay at his feet, several art implements slid across to the  
other side of the corridor.

"Oh, how clumsy of me. I’m so sorry, Mr. Calder." The woman  
looked up at him; he nearly melted on the spot, her eyes were so warm and  
caring.

A smile on his face, "It’s all right. And, please, call me Jarod."  
He picked up a couple books and several art brushes.

"Sure. My name is Lea Marshall." She offered him her hand and lost  
her pile of books again. "Damn." Lea knelt to the floor.

"Sometimes we art majors don’t think as fast as we act." Her smile  
was as warm and caring as her eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Lea." He helped her collect her books again. She  
reached for her texts. "Why don’t I carry these for you?" he  
offered.

"Sure. Thanks. You want to get something to eat? I think the cafeteria  
is serving hamburgers today. Not as good as mom’s cooking, but better than the  
meatloaf from yesterday."

Jarod nodded, smiling. He was hungry and really had gotten lost on the campus  
looking for the classroom. It would be nice to relax and rely, a little, on  
someone else for a change.

The cafeteria was noisy and full of people, students of all ages and  
religions and races and cultures. The variety of people amazed him. He heard  
several languages being spoken, only comprehending a few words and phrases, not  
able to focus on everything all at the same time.

Lea had been right; hamburgers were on the menu for today. He was very  
hungry; he would have to get out of this habit of skipping breakfast.

They talked for nearly an hour, then Lea mentioned she had another class.  
Jarod offered to escort her, then regretfully apologized, remembering a previous  
engagement. He did agree to meet her later in the afternoon.

* * * * * * * * *

Closing his red notebook, he stood in the doorway, watching. Graceful strokes  
over the canvas were giving shape to a gorgeous image: a tall, blond man; sharp,  
blue eyes, athletic build. "That’s an amazing painting. Mind if I ask who  
inspired such a work?" Jarod asked, weaving through easels and stools.

"Thank you, Jarod. This is a painting of my husband." She added a  
few strokes of color to the image’s face.

"Has he seen it?"

"No. And he won’t." Smiling, she answered the sad question in his  
face. "He was killed in an automobile accident several years ago."

"Oh. I’m sorry." He was sympathetic, and a bit relieved that he  
did not have to add someone else to his list of investigations.

"It’s all right, Jarod. I’ve moved on. I have my classes and my art  
to get me through." She rinsed her brush, banged it against the easel leg  
to knock off some of the water, and loaded it with the next color mixture.  
"Now, I’m sure you did not come down here to discuss the death of my  
husband." She dabbed more paint onto the canvas.

"No. Actually, I was wondering if you knew anything about the bodies  
that had been found near campus recently?"

Ms. Richards shook her head. "Nothing beyond what I’ve heard the  
students saying."

"And what are they saying?"

"One of the students on campus found the last body and reported it to  
campus security, anonymously. The local authorities were called in, but I  
don’t think they’ve come up with anything. I’m sorry I don’t know any  
more."

"No. That’s great. Thank you." He turned to leave.

"Jarod."

He stopped and turned back to her.

"Thank you for caring."

"You’re welcome." Silently, he left the room and entered the  
corridor.

* * * * * * * * *

****

The Centre

**Sim Lab**

**Monday Morning**

Sam entered the sim lab and looked around inquisitively. Surveying the  
expanse, he counted four people: a set of twins, Sydney, and Broots. Miss Parker  
was not present. She had not been in her office either. No one had seen her.

"Can I help you, Sam?" Sydney asked when he spotted the sweeper on  
the landing.

"Have you seen Miss Parker? I have an important package for her."

"No. Not since yesterday. But if you’d like, I’ll be sure she gets  
it," Sydney offered.

Sam squared his shoulders, stood firm. "I’ve been instructed to give  
it only to Miss Parker."

"I’m sorry, Sam. I haven’t seen her."

Broots glanced up from his computer, cleared his throat. "Um, she  
didn’t report in this morning."

"You didn’t tell me that," Sydney chastised.

"I’m sorry. I forgot, I was working on a technical problem all  
morning," Broots defended.

"Did she call to say why she wasn’t coming?" Sam shifted his  
weight.

Broots shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Why the concern, Sam? Miss Parker operates on her own schedule."  
Sydney did not understand the sweeper’s position.

Sam furrowed his brow a little. "Miss Parker does not make a habit of  
running off without informing someone. The package I was given is labeled:  
*Confidential / Urgent.* I must find her."

"I wish I could help you, but I have not seen her since yesterday."  
Sydney took a quick glance at his set of twins, then returned his attention to  
Sam.

"Thank you." The sweeper turned to leave.

"Wait," Broots called and watched the large man face him. "Um,  
if the package is urgent, perhaps we should try to find her?" He waited a  
moment for someone to speak. No one did. "I’m gonna search Centre  
itineraries and see if there was anything scheduled," Broots explained as  
he began a series of keystrokes.

Sam descended the short flight of stairs and crossed the room to stand behind  
Broots. He watched the tech work, still firmly holding the package. The computer  
beeped, indicating it had completed its set of instructions. "What did you  
find?" Sam asked.

Broots looked up at the sweeper over his shoulder. "Nothing."

"Nothing on Miss Parker?" Sydney leaned over the tech’s desk.

"No. I mean nothing. There are *NO* itineraries in the system."  
Broots looked back and forth between the two men hovering over him.

"Where else can you search, Mr. Broots?" Sam asked, seeking any  
possibility.

"Well, let’s see." Broots began a new search of Centre files. He  
noticed Sam and Sydney were still hovering. "Um, you may want to find  
something to do, because this is going to take a while."

"Let me know when you have something." Sam instructed and left the  
lab.

"That was odd."

"How so, Broots?"

"I don’t remember Sam pushing so hard."

Sydney squeezed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Whatever is  
in that package must be very important."

* * * * * * * * *

****

Day 2 -- Tuesday

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Local Police Station**

"Can I help you, handsome?" the short, plump woman behind the desk  
asked of the man strolling through the door.

Drawing on his best southern gentleman’s voice, without the twang of an  
accent, Jarod responded, "Well, ma’am. I’m looking for the detective in  
charge of the investigation of the body found on the University campus."

Seemingly impressed with his performance, she answered his request;  
"That would be Detective Daniel Sydor and his partner, Detective J.T.  
Nieuwendyk."

"Would it be all right if I had a word with one of them?"

"Wait here, honey. I’ll see what I can do."

"Thank you very much, ma’am." Jarod waited patiently while the  
desk sergeant wandered through the maze of officers to a stern looking man  
seated behind an ancient desk. He seemed annoyed at the interruption, but rose  
from his chair and followed the desk sergeant.

"Detective Daniel Sydor. How can I be of service?" the detective  
introduced himself, more as an obligation than a courtesy.

"Well, sir," Jarod began, retaining his gentlemanly tone,

"I’m a student at the university. I’ve been doing some research for one  
of my classes…"

"Aren’t you a little old to be a student?" Sydor asked,  
suspicious.

Jarod tipped his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, looking insulted.  
"I’m studying for a Ph.D. in various fields and obtaining a second  
bachelors degree in forensic artistry."

Chagrined, the detective remained silent.

"Like I was saying, I’m doing some research for a class, and wanted  
some information on the body that was found near the campus."

"Well, as a student of forensics, among other things, you should know  
that the police do not generally allow civilians to travel to crime  
scenes." Sydor paused; Jarod raised an eyebrow at the detective again as he  
continued, "But, since you are researching for a class, why don’t you tag  
along with my partner and I to the scene?" The detective waved to his  
partner.

"Sounds great. Thank you." Jarod followed the two detectives to  
their car.

* * * * * * * * *

Several turns into the drive, Jarod noticed Sydor’s partner, Detective  
Nieuwendyk, swinging a hinged piece of metal. "What is that?" Jarod  
leaned over the back of the front seat, eyeing the item in the detective’s  
hand.

Nieuwendyk handed the hinged metal object to Jarod. "It’s a butterfly  
knife."

Jarod examined the blade. He held one side of the knife and it fell open.  
"This doesn’t look very practical as a weapon." Jarod’s face  
contorted as he attempted to determine how the knife functioned.

"Yeah. Actually, butterfly knives are better for showing off, than for  
use as a weapon."

"Showing off?"

Nieuwendyk accepted the blade as Jarod returned it to him. "Let’s see  
if I can do this slow enough for you to see it." The detective flipped and  
rolled the hinged blade over his fingers, opening and closing the knife  
expertly.

"Fascinating. May I?"

"Sure." Nieuwendyk handed the knife back to Jarod.

Clumsily, Jarod tried his hand. Several attempts later, he was nearly an  
expert himself. By the time they arrived at the crime scene, he had mastered the  
art of the butterfly knife techniques Nieuwendyk had shown him, and created a  
few variations of his own.

"Hey, you’re pretty good with that thing," Nieuwendyk commented.  
"You sure you haven’t done this before?"

"Nah. I’m a quick study."

"Are you boys finished playing with your toys?" Sydor was waiting  
with the driver’s side door open.

"Sorry, Daniel. Let’s go, Jarod."

Death hung in the air as they proceeded to the scene. Even the trees looked  
depressed. Clouds moved over the sun and nature held its breath.

Jarod stood among the trees, feeling, becoming, living the crime that had  
left this scene. Violence was not present in the trees, only malice. The act had  
been done before these branches became the ceiling of this chamber of death.

"Where was the body?" Jarod asked.

"It was found right here." Nieuwendyk drew an outline of the body  
in the air.

"Details?"

"White female about 5’7", slender build, dark hair. She might  
have been a student here at the university."

Jarod nodded solemnly. "And this is the third victim?" He had read  
about the previous two murders, both unsolved.

"Yes. The first two were also found near campus. Both naked, both tall  
with dark hair. Like this one." Nieuwendyk produced photographs of the  
three victims.

"What’s the M.O.?"

"Strangulation."

"Were any articles of clothing found on the scene?"

"Only a red scarf around their necks." Nieuwendyk returned the  
photographs to his pocket. "Other than that they were naked."

Jarod nodded and pulled out a notebook and pen. Sydor watched as Jarod began  
sketching the scene. Delicate pen strokes that began as a jumble of lines and  
curves, became a near perfect rendering of the crime scene. Jarod stopped  
drawing and glanced to the pair of detectives. "Was the body face-up or  
down?"

"Face up," Sydor answered, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Thanks." Jarod returned to his sketch. He wandered around the  
scene, sketching from different angles. Something in the grass caught his eye  
and he knelt to retrieve it with his pen. He tilted his head, studying the  
object dangling from the end of his pen.

"Find something?" Nieuwendyk asked, stepping beside Jarod.

"Not sure." He placed the object in the detective’s gloved hand.

"Daniel," Nieuwendyk called to his partner, "How did we miss  
this?"

Jarod watched Sydor examine the object. "Is that ring something  
important?"

Sydor handed the ring back to his partner. "No. I don’t think so, but  
take it back to the lab and have it tested. Let’s go." He turned and  
walked back to the car.

 

 

****

Act II

**Day 3 -- Wednesday**

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

Today’s class was similar to the previous one. Jarod entered the room and  
assumed his pose for the day’s lesson, except today, Kristine Richards had  
invited a second model, a woman; a very lovely woman. Ms. Richards had informed  
Jarod of the schedule for the day’s lesson - a study in embrace - but Jarod  
was still a little nervous. Jarod felt his heart racing, but not about being  
naked in front of the class.

He calmed his nerves and curled his arms around the slender woman, her legs  
curled under her, her head on his shoulder. Soft, golden hair cascaded along her  
back, the ends tickling his skin. The embrace was soft, her breasts against his  
chest; flesh against flesh, comfortable. To complete the pose, he bent his head,  
gently, to her shoulder.

* * * * * * * * *

Craig Van Allen studied his drawing. Something was missing. He pondered the  
couple in the center of the room, comparing the models to his canvas. The  
man’s face was giving him problems; he just could not capture something he  
knew was there, just beneath the surface. Perhaps the man was hiding something.  
Craig scratched a few more lines to the face, then began shading other aspects  
of the image. It was coming to life, the bodies holding a piece of reality,  
almost like a photograph, but the man’s face was still a mystery. Craig shook  
his head and put down his drawing implements when the professor announced the  
end of class. The face would just have to remain a mystery.

* * * * * * * * *

Jarod was tying his robe and chatting with his partner for the day, whose  
name he learned was Amy, when Ms. Richards approached. "Wonderful class  
today. Thank you very much." A wide, bright smile lit her face.

"It was an excellent class," Amy responded. "And, if you’ll  
excuse me, I have one of my own to attend. It was lovely working with you, Jarod."

"Thank you. I enjoyed working with you also." They shook hands and  
Amy took her leave. "Kristine," Jarod began, and continued when he had  
her attention again, "I was wondering if you had heard anything else about  
the murders."

Ms. Richards shook her head. "No, sorry. Nothing." She paused a  
moment, then continued, "Have the police found anything?"

"Nothing of any significance. How did you know I spoke with the  
police?"

"A couple students saw you yesterday. People talk. The campus is really  
a small world."

"So, I’ve noticed. Thank you." Jarod secured his robe and exited  
the classroom to change his clothes.

* * * * * * * * *

"Hey, Jarod, wanna go to lunch?" Lea asked him as he stepped from  
his dressing room, rolling the sleeves of his white, button-down.

"Sure." He looked up from his sleeve and noticed another student.

"Oh, Jarod Calder, this is my friend, Craig Van Allen."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Van Allen." Jarod shook the man’s hand.

"Same here, Mr. Calder."

"Please, call me Jarod."

"Sure. And I’m Craig." He turned to Lea. "So, what’s for  
lunch?"

"I think pizza, but you can get a salad, Craig."

"Great. Let’s go." Craig motioned for Lea to precede him.

* * * * * * * * *

Lunch conversation covered various points of art. Jarod’s questions and  
comments focused mainly on the Renaissance and Mannerist periods. He was  
interested in Lea and Craig’s opinions regarding nudity in art.

"The human body has been the subject of art for years. Both clothed and  
nude. This air of modesty imposed on us, at least at the level it is in the  
U.S., is a modern concept. Of course, by modern, I mean the last four- or five-  
hundred years." Craig took a sip from his water bottle.

"Exactly. Modesty has been prevalent for years, but even the Olympics  
were originally exercised in the nude," Lea expressed, placing her fork  
beside her plate.

"All right, so explain something for me." Jarod watched the two art  
students’ intent gazes. "Nudity in still art is generally accepted, but  
requires a strict rating in movies?"

"Sort of. But not all still art. Playboy magazine is not necessarily  
considered art, though producing those photographs is a form of art, it’s  
considered pornography," Lea responded.

"Well, as much as I am enjoying this discussion on the history of  
modesty, I have a class across campus in fifteen minutes." Craig rose from  
the table.

"It was nice meeting you, Craig."

"You too, Jarod." Craig dumped his trash and left the cafeteria.

"I need to get to class also." Lea collected her books and  
supplies, trying to balance everything before she attempted to pick up her tray.

"I’ll get that," Jarod offered, collecting both trays.

"Thank you."

Trays returned, Jarod offered to walk Lea to her next class. During the walk,  
Lea told Jarod about the day she found the body.

"I was looking for a good place to stop and draw. Just walking around  
the campus. All the art students do that. I was walking and glanced through the  
trees and saw the body. It really scared me."

Jarod saw her visibly shiver, her dark eyes withdraw. He spoke to comfort  
her; "It’s not something people are usually accustomed to." He put a  
gentle arm around her shoulders.

"She was just laying there with a scarf around her neck and nothing  
else." Lea’s solemn voice was barely audible. She stopped walking at the  
bottom of the Hall stairs and lowered her head. "Jarod, I don’t know why  
I’m telling you any of this. I haven’t told anyone but the police. Not even  
Craig, and he’s my best friend."

"Sometimes talking to someone you don’t know well is easier."

"Thank you, Jarod."

He nodded.

"I really need to go to class now. Maybe we can meet later and  
talk?"

"Sure." He watched her as she walked into the building.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Jarod's Apartment

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Wednesday Afternoon**

"This is Sydney," came the accented voice through the receiver.

"Why is nakedness bad?" Jarod asked, keying up a DSA.

"It’s a question of modesty, Jarod."

"It is permitted in art, but not everyday life? Why Sydney?" The  
DSA, dated 10/25, showed Jarod, age twelve, sitting at a table in a simulation  
lab in deep concentration over several graphics and diagrams.

"Nudity in our everyday lives is permitted within specific parameters.  
In one’s home, where no one can see, nudity is allowable. But open, public  
display is frowned upon by the general population."

"There are laws against *public display,* Sydney." The young boy on  
the DSA glanced up, first, at the DSA recorders in the corners to his right and  
behind him, then at the large Plexiglas walls surrounding him. He pushed his  
shoes off with his feet, still concentrating on his graphics and diagrams.

"To protect people, Jarod. Why this sudden interest?"

"It’s not sudden, Sydney. It’s something I’ve been thinking about  
for a while, and now I want to know why I was punished for wanting to know my  
body. It is *my* body, after all." Jarod watched the DSA screen, the  
younger version of himself removed his shirt and tossed it into the air; it  
landed softly atop the far DSA recorder, covering the lens.

"The Centre didn’t feel it was a good idea to let you wander around  
naked." There was no immediate response from Jarod. Sydney remembered  
something; "Jarod, what happened to you that time I found you in your  
room?"

"Nothing, compared to the next time."

"What next time?"

Jarod was silent.

The DSA continued; the young boy on the screen pushed his chair back from the  
table. He stepped into the corner, beneath the uncovered DSA recorder. Moments  
later, the boy emerged, all his clothing removed, and stepped to the Plexiglas  
wall that would serve as his mirror. He stood before the wall and focused his  
eyes on the faint, distorted image. Tilting his head to one side, he turned,  
trying to study all angles of his body.

Jarod came out of his reverie and spoke, "Sydney, they locked me in a  
dark room for three days, naked and cold and hungry. The fourth day, I was given  
a scalding shower. And you did nothing!" Jarod was seething, ready to  
explode.

A long silence stretched between them.

Jarod took a deep breath and waited. The silence continued.

"Sydney?" Jarod prompted, annoyed

Gathering himself after this revelation, Sydney responded, "Believe me,  
Jarod, I was unaware any of this had happened."

Jarod said nothing. Sydney and his convenient "I was unaware"  
speeches.

"I was in Detroit for a convention. Had I known, I would have done  
anything in my power to stop it."

"But why, Sydney? Why such a strong sense of modesty? The human body is  
beautiful and should not be required to be concealed."

"That decision was not up to me. I did what I was told."

"Good bye, Sydney." Jarod ended the call and ejected the DSA,  
hurling it across the room, watching it slam into the door, but not break. He  
reclined in his chair, allowing all negative thoughts to fall from his mind, and  
scratched his goateed chin as the sunlight warmed his bare skin.

* * * * * * * * *

****

The Centre

**Wednesday Afternoon**

Broots stopped Sydney in the hall on his way to the elevator. "Have you  
seen Sam?"

"I think he’s in Miss Parker’s office," Sydney replied.

"Thanks."

"Broots." Sydney waited for the man’s attention. "Do you  
have something on Miss Parker?"

"Come on." Broots motioned for Sydney to follow him onto the  
elevator. He was silent during the ride and walk to Miss Parker’s office. He  
pushed the door open; peering around it, verifying Sam was present. "Sam, I  
think I might have something for you."

Sam waved the gentlemen in, then scruffed his hair, rubbed his eyes, and  
focused on the computer screen again.

"Well, I can’t tell you where she is; I’ve tried her cell phone  
several times with no response; but I might be able to tell you when she  
left." Broots flipped open the file folder in his hand and noticed the  
*urgent* package still under Sam’s expert care. He began to wonder what could  
be so important.

"Fine," Sam stated plainly.

"All right. We know she wasn’t here yesterday, Tuesday, and I found  
out that she left the Centre early the day before, Monday, some time around  
two-thirty, according to Rudy, you know, the guy with the twitch in his left  
eye, who works the mail route near the front entrance?"

"Broots, today please?" Sam said, nearly pleading for the tech’s  
dissertation to end.

"Right. Sorry. Well, Rudy said he saw her at the door around two-thirty  
and she was gone about five minutes later, but she hadn’t passed him to go  
back to her office, so she must’ve left the building."

"Do you know where she went?"

"Well, no. But, I found this," Broots leaned over and tapped  
several keys, retrieving a memo.

Sam moved toward the monitor, reading the memo, Sydney next to him.  
"This was sent to Miss Parker?" The significance of the memo was not  
apparent.

"Yes. From her father."

"So, what happened in the meeting?" Sydney asked.

"I wasn’t there." Broots’ eyes widened and he shook his head.

Sydney nodded. "No, Broots. I know you were not at the meeting. Did you  
find anything about it?"

Enthusiastically, Broots flipped open the folder in his hands. "I did  
find this." He slid several sheets of paper onto the desk for Sam and  
Sydney.

Nodding, Sam scanned the pages. "So, Mr. Parker told her to take a  
vacation."

"No. Well, I mean, that’s what it says in the file, but that’s not  
really what he told her." Broots leaned closer to the sweeper and  
whispered, "See, Miss Parker’s been working on a side project and I don't  
think her father's too happy about it."

Sam blinked once, slowly, and turned his head. "Are you saying she’s  
been sent away to be killed?" Sam’s voice was as low as the tech’s.

Broots shook his head. "No. I don’t think so. Probably more as a  
warning, but I don’t know where."

"Keep searching." Sam handed the pages from the file back to Broots  
and returned to the computer search he had been conducting.

Broots nodded and left the office with Sydney.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Local Police Station

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Wednesday Early Evening**

"So, you’ve gone over the information we’ve released and your  
conclusions are the same as ours?" Nieuwendyk asked.

"Unfortunately you haven’t released enough information for this to be  
easy." Jarod stacked some pages and pushed them aside.

Nieuwendyk smiled. "We try."

"Okay, can we talk hypotheticals?"

"Sure." Nieuwendyk sat across the table from Jarod, rolling his pen  
around his fingers.

"All right. So, let’s say none of the victims were raped, but all were  
found naked except for the scarf around their necks." Jarod took a breath.  
"Beyond the bodies and the scarves, there is little evidence at the scenes.  
We determine death is by strangulation. Now, we need a motive."

"Right, but you know I can’t tell you anything."

"I know. So, a list of possible motives. Since all the victims are  
similar in appearance and stature, the killer may have been abused or felt  
wronged by someone who looked like these victims; there could be a common thread  
between the victims that draws the killer; the killer could be mimicking a  
similar occurrence from TV or the news."

Nieuwendyk nodded. "All possibilities. All under consideration, but  
that’s standard procedure."

"Right. But suppose a telling piece of evidence is discovered that  
proves one of the victims was killed by a different person than the  
others?"

"Then you have either a copycat or a very strong coincidence."  
Nieuwendyk looked up, serious faced, at his partner who had approached the  
table.

"Let’s go, J.T. Another body found on campus."

"What?"

"Yep. Come on." Sydor turned, stopped at the sound of Jarod’s  
voice. "No way is the kid coming along," Sydor spoke past Jarod,  
directly to his partner.

"Daniel, he’s okay. And he’s not a kid. He needs a ride back to  
campus anyway. He’s not going to hurt anything."

Jarod was impressed, and grateful for Nieuwendyk’s pleading his case. He  
needed to see this crime scene, needed more information if the potential serial  
killer was striking again.

"Fine. Bring him along. But he stays out of the way." Sydor  
conceded and rushed through the station door.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Socorro, New Mexico

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

**Wednesday Evening**

A small group had gathered at the scene. Several officers were stretching  
yellow, *crime scene* tape around the area, their vehicles flashing red and  
blue.

Detectives Sydor and Nieuwendyk ducked under the plastic barrier, but a  
uniformed officer instructed Jarod to stay behind the tape. He obeyed, watching  
the detectives work the scene. The body had been covered and photographs were  
being taken.

* * * * * * * * *

Huddled beside a police officer, Lea wrapped her arms around herself. She had  
called the police and given her preliminary statement. Now, she just wanted to  
go home.

She glanced around the scene and spotted him. Weaving through the crowd, she  
made her way to him. "Oh, Jarod. Why me?" She wrapped her arms around  
his waist.

"Lea, what happened?" Jarod put his arms around her shoulders,  
comforting her.

"I was on my way to a friend’s apartment and I found…" Lea  
glanced to the body, "…her." Her voice caught in her throat.

"It’s all right. You’ll go down to the station, give your official  
statement, then go home…"

"Come with me. Please?" The pleading and fear in her eyes was too  
much to ignore.

Jarod nodded and walked her to the vehicle of Detectives Sydor and Nieuwendyk  
to wait.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Local Police Station

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Wednesday Night**

"Can I go now?" Lea asked, choking back a sob.

"Sure. We’ll let you know if we need anything more," Sydor  
responded.

"Thank you, detectives." Jarod put an arm around Lea, leading her  
to the door.

"Thank you, Jarod." Nieuwendyk waved as they left. He turned back  
to his partner.

"What is going on here, Daniel?"

An inquisitive stare was the only response from his partner.

"Come on. Four bodies. Same M.O. We’ve got to find this guy before  
more women are killed."

"Isn’t that what we’re doing? Examining the evidence and  
investigating until we have enough to arrest a suspect?"

"But four women are dead. How many more have to die? How many more  
parents have to lose children, before we arrest someone?"

"We could arrest you," Sydor snapped.

"I’m going for a walk." Nieuwendyk left the precinct. What the  
hell was wrong with his partner? He pushed it aside as stress over the case and  
entered the coffee shop on the corner.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Jarod's Apartment

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Wednesday Night**

"Thanks for letting me stay here tonight, Jarod. I really didn’t want  
to be alone."

"I understand. Finding a corpse is a very traumatic event." Jarod  
drew a blanket and pillow from a closet and placed them on the couch.

"Yeah. And finding two bodies in about a week, is even more so."

"I can imagine," Jarod empathized. "The bed’s yours. I’ll  
sleep on the couch."

"Thanks."

"You hungry?"

"Starved."

"Hmmm. I have Jell-O and ice cream."

"Got a phone? We can order a pizza."

Jarod pointed to the phone on the wall. He opened the refrigerator and found  
two sodas while she was making the call. "Here you go." He handed one  
to Lea.

"Thanks. Pizza should be here in about thirty minutes."

* * * * * * * * *

****

Day 4 -- Thursday

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

Why had she been sent on this particular assignment? Locating a missing  
operative could have been assigned to anyone, but it had been given to her. She  
had been pulled from the search for Jarod, specifically for this new project.

Miss Parker glanced around the open area before her. Several hundred students  
milled about, going and coming, to and from class and other activities. How was  
she to find a Centre operative in this crowd? She did not even know who she was  
looking for, or what the person looked like.

Numerous students whispered as they walked past her, giving her strange  
looks. What was their problem? Did she have a tree growing out of her head or  
something? Whatever. She walked the campus; talking to those who would speak to  
her; asking if they had seen anyone unusual. The responses she gained were less  
than helpful.

* * * * * * * * *

What was she doing here? Had he left enough clues behind to be followed?  
However, she was alone, no entourage of sweepers or other Centre personnel, so  
she may be on her own errand.

Jarod retreated from the window and slid from the classroom to exit by the  
rear of the building, avoiding Miss Parker’s entrance by the front.  
Cautiously, he moved, taking a longer, less visible route around the campus. He  
stopped, leaning against a large shade tree, watching the building Miss Parker  
had entered -- Bouck Hall.

Watching, studying, he noticed she seemed frustrated, almost saddened and  
confused. She was not grilling the people she met, actually, she seemed to be  
avoiding them. Someone had sent her here on an errand, but not to find him.

Sighing, he pushed from the tree and approached Miss Parker.

"What are you doing here? Are you following me?" she snapped, arms  
crossed over her chest.

"No, Miss Parker. I’m not following you. But I may be able to help  
you."

"I don’t think so, Jarod. I’m here to do a job, and," a smile  
crossed her lips, "as a bonus, I get to take you back to the Centre."

She loosely latched onto his arm.

He laughed and pulled himself free easily. Then his demeanor changed, from  
playful to serious. "Miss Parker, I can’t leave yet. Four women are  
dead." He held the four photographs out for her to see.

Miss Parker looked at the photographs, then turned away.

"Are you really looking?" He pushed the photographs closer to her.  
"Have you noticed the resemblance? All of these people are giving you  
strange looks because you resemble the victims."

"You’ve got to be kid…." She looked at the photographs again.

"Jarod, what is going on here?"

"I don’t know. That’s what I’m working on. Now, why are you  
here?"

Miss Parker exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

"Miss Parker, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me why you’re  
here."

"I never asked for your help."

"No, but I can help you. Miss Parker, this will be easier if we  
cooperate."

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," Miss Parker whispered, barely  
audible. "I was sent here, by my father, to find an operative who has been  
missing for two weeks."

"I haven’t seen anyone." Her reaction to his response was not  
positive. "I’m sorry, Miss Parker, but we can figure this out.  
Together."

"Fine. How?" She turned away from him.

"I don’t know," he sighed.

"Some help you are," she snapped, turning on her heel, expecting  
him to have disappeared, but she came face-to-face with him, nearly stumbling  
into him. Strong arms caught her off-balance body.

Jarod, satisfied she was stable on her feet, said, "Miss Parker, I can  
help you."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Jarod, have all the crime scenes been  
searched?"

"Yes."

Opening her eyes, she looked directly into his. "No, I mean swept."

"Only the third one."

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"Great. Now what?"

"We visit the fourth site."

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?"

"My afternoon is currently occupied." He glanced around the campus,  
watching the students mingle. "I’ll call you tomorrow morning. After  
class." Jarod walked away with a smile on his face, leaving Miss Parker  
beside the wide set of stairs leading into Bouck Hall.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Local Police Station

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Lab of the Medical Examiner**

**Thursday Afternoon**

His two favorite detectives entered his arena. "Welcome, welcome. What  
can I get for you this afternoon detectives?"

"Yeah, Rick. What do you have on our latest victim?" Sydor asked,  
crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a wall.

"Same as the last three you brought me." Rick rolled his chair from  
the cold, metal table to his desk, pulling rubber gloves off as he coasted. A  
manila file sailed across the room, landing in the hands of Nieuwendyk.  
"Naked. No signs of sexual assault. Red scarf around the neck."

"Are we looking at a serial killer here?" Sydor asked.

"That’s your department, gentlemen, but it looks that way to me."  
Rick rolled back to his slab. "Anything else you need?" He snapped a  
new pair rubber gloves into place.

"Any signs of struggle?"

Rick shook his head. "Nothing I could find, Daniel. No material under  
the fingernails, no overt bruising on the arms. No needle marks, signs of  
poison. Nothing. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."

Sydor nodded. "Thanks, Rick."

"This for us?" Nieuwendyk asked, indicating the file he had been  
tossed.

"Yep. Good luck."

"Thanks, Rick," Nieuwendyk responded. The two detectives left the  
lab of the medical examiner. They stepped onto the elevator and Sydor pressed  
the button for the appropriate floor.

"So, Daniel, any ideas on suspects?"

"That kid. He was hanging around one of the crime scenes the other  
day."

"What? Serial killers don’t usually return to the scene."

"Look, we’re gonna pick him up and we’re gonna talk to him."

"Just because he was hanging around the scene?"

"Maybe he saw something. We’re not arresting him, just questioning.  
Let’s go." Sydor stepped off the elevator, stalked through the maze of  
desks to the door.

Nieuwendyk tossed the file on his desk and followed his partner.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Apartment Building

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Thursday Evening**

"J.T., what’s going on?" Jarod asked Nieuwendyk. He had seen the  
two detectives pull up in front of the apartment building where he was staying.

"We need to talk to Craig Van Allen. Have you seen him?"

"Not today. Why do you need to talk to him?"

Nieuwendyk was ready to respond, but his partner stepped between he and Jarod.  
"Jarod, this is a police investigation, and you are not a part of it."

"Come on, Daniel. He’s not hurting anybody."

"Look, J.T., we have work to do and don’t need anyone getting in our  
way. Come on, we need to talk to Mr. Van Allen." Sydor walked away and  
entered the building.

Nieuwendyk sighed heavily. "He suspects Van Allen." He entered the  
building behind his partner. He knew giving Jarod information was against  
procedure, but his instinct told him this time was different.

Craig Van Allen? Why did Sydor suspect him? Jarod understood the serial  
killer angle; the victims had been murdered in the same manner, but how had  
Sydor made any connections?

 

 

****

ACT III

**Day 5 -- Friday**

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

"Jarod, that was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen," commented  
Lea, giving Jarod a soft slap on the shoulder.

"Hey!" He reacted to her playful hit.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" Her warm smile lit her face.

"I’ve never seen anyone stand on their head for so long."

"I had a lot of time to practice when I was younger." Jarod smiled  
and plucked a PEZ from its dispenser with his mouth.

"I’ve never had so much fun in any class! Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Jarod laughed, chewing his PEZ.

"Did Ms. Richards know you were gonna do that?" Lea crunched a  
carrot stick and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Jarod shook his head. "No. She was just as surprised as everyone else.  
But, I’d say she was pleased."

Lea’s bright smile quickly faded as a tall shadow fell over her and Jarod  
while they were sitting in the grass. She caught Jarod’s look as he tilted his  
head upward, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun.

"Hello, Miss Parker," he said, plainly.

"Hi." The smile in her voice was almost genuine.

"Miss Parker, this is Lea Marshall," Jarod introduced the two  
women.

"Hello, nice to meet you." Lea rose from the grass and extended her  
right hand.

Miss Parker tentatively took the woman’s hand. "Yeah." She turned  
to Jarod. "Um, Jarod, can we talk?"

"Sure." He stood. "Lea, will you excuse me?"

"Yeah. I have some painting to do. I’ll see you later."

Jarod nodded and watched Lea cross the grounds as he spoke. "Yes, Miss  
Parker?"

She shook her head. "This doesn’t make any sense."

"What doesn’t make any sense?"

"All of this. Are you aware I was pulled from my regular assignment to  
come down here?" Miss Parker leaned against a tree. "My father told me  
I had to locate this operative, but I was given nothing. No photo, no  
description, nothing. I don’t know who I’m looking for."

"Let’s walk." He extended his hand to her. She sighed, shaking  
her head, pushed herself from the tree, and walked past him.

Jarod released his own sigh and followed. They walked for fifteen minutes in  
silence. Only the sounds of the streets surrounded them.

"Miss Parker," Jarod called to the woman several steps ahead of  
him.

She stopped and turned around, staring at him, wondering what he wanted.

"This way." He pointed to a building.

"I thought we were going to the crime scene?"

He smiled. "The crime scene is that way." He pointed back toward  
the university. "I need a few pieces of information first."

"Okay." She followed him into the police station. "What are we  
looking for?" She whispered to Jarod.

"Hold on." Jarod watched Sydor, waiting.

* * * * * * * * *

Nieuwendyk nodded, listening to his partner describe the movie he had watched  
the night before with little true interest. Finally, Sydor finished and left for  
his daily trip to the coffee shop down the street. He nodded at Jarod on his way  
out and gave Miss Parker a head-to-toe glance that made her feel violated.

The other detective pushed himself from his chair and approached the man he  
had seen enter the station several minutes ago. "Good afternoon, Jarod."

"Detective." The two men shook hands. "This is Miss  
Parker."

"Pleasure. Name’s J.T." The detective shook hands, tentatively,  
with the attractive woman, eyeing her a little too intently.

"What?" she snapped.

"I’m sorry." Nieuwendyk could not get over her resemblance to the  
victims.

Jarod, trying to pull the conversation away from Miss Parker, asked,  
"Anything interesting?"

Shaking his head, Nieuwendyk responded, "ID on the third victim."

"Do you have ID’s on the first two?"

"Yeah. They came in a couple days ago. Daniel said to keep a lid on it  
for a few days. Don’t really know why. He let us pass out the  
photographs."

"So, who are they?"

"Here." Nieuwendyk handed Jarod a list. "The last one, I hear,  
is that guy, Van Allen’s ex-girlfriend."

"Interesting. Thanks."

"Sure. Be careful."

"We will." Jarod guided Miss Parker back to the street.

"What was that all about?"

"What?"

"The girlfriend thing."

Jarod pulled Miss Parker to the edge of the sidewalk. "Sydor questioned  
Craig Van Allen before the ID had come back on the third victim."

"So, now what?"

"The last crime scene. Let’s go."

* * * * * * * * *

****

Socorro, New Mexico

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

**Crime Scene #4**

**Friday Late Morning**

"Jarod, there’s nothing here." Miss Parker sighed and rubbed her  
hands over her hair.

Jarod shifted some debris, picking through leaves and sticks. "Maybe  
there is something." He held a small, silver disc between his thumb and  
forefinger.

"A DSA? What would a college student be doing with a Centre DSA?"  
Miss Parker knelt beside Jarod.

"This was no college student." He picked through several more bits  
of debris.

"Jarod, do you suppose this was the operative I was sent to find?"

"Maybe."

"We need to find out what’s on that DSA."

"Yes. We do." Jarod wrinkled his brow. "How did the police  
miss this?"

"What?"

"The police were all over this scene. How did they miss this?"

"Unless it wasn’t here when they searched."

Jarod’s head snapped to his right, looking directly at her. "If  
that’s true, then someone knew you would search the scene and planted it… as  
a message."

"Where’s your DSA player?"

"My apartment."

"I’m hungry. Let’s eat."

"You go ahead. I have some things to do." Jarod stretched his legs,  
stiff from kneeling.

"All right." Miss Parker turned away and turned back to him.  
"Wait, where is your place?"

Jarod gave her the address, then watched her cross the grounds.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Jarod's Apartment

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Friday Late Afternoon**

The soft sound of sad lyrics drifted beyond the door. Miss Parker stopped and  
listened.

__

I don’t have a worry

_I don’t have a care_

_I don’t have a sound piece of mind_

_But I managed to fare…*_

Interesting song. She knocked.

"Come in," she heard his voice call. Pushing the apartment door  
open, she entered, absorbing the surroundings and the continued chorus of the  
song:

__

…I don’t feel no raging

_There ain’t nothing new_

_Drop me in the ocean_

_And paint me blue…*_

Canvases and sculptures of all sizes lined the walls and shelves. Wonderboy  
has been busy. A charcoal drawing caught her eye and held her attention. The man  
in the drawing was nude. She looked around, all of the figures in the room were  
nude, including… "Oh, God!" she gasped.

"Hello, Miss Parker," Jarod returned, his focus remaining on his  
canvas.

"Um, Jarod. Why are you…?" she could not bring herself to speak  
the word.

He faced her, his tall, slender body fully exposed. Her voice caught in her  
throat as she tried to speak. Conforming to general standards of modesty, after  
instinctively eyeing Jarod head-to-toe, she covered her eyes and turned away  
from him. "Jarod, would you please put on some clothes. Or at least a  
robe?" she snarled, able to speak now.

Jarod smiled and pulled a robe from a nearby chair. "Is this  
better?"

She turned around and blinked. "Eh," she shrugged. Remembering why  
she had come, she said, "Where’s the DSA?"

"All business." He placed his charcoal on the nearby table and  
brushed off his fingers. He retrieved the DSA from the backside of one of his  
drawings and inserted it into the DSA player.

An image flickered on the screen, followed by hissing static.

"There’s nothing here." Miss Parker threw her hands in the air,  
exasperated. She turned and walked to the window.

Jarod watched the static shift and settle into an image. "Miss  
Parker."

She turned to him, saw the image. "Hold on. Back that up." She made  
a motion with her hand as she walked.

He reversed the DSA, played it back for her. They watched the images again.

For Centre Use Only

"Are you sure this is what you want?" a doctor asked the woman on  
the table.

The light haired woman nodded eagerly. "Yes, Doctor. We both want this  
very much." She smiled up at someone off-screen.

"Brigitte?" Miss Parker gasped. "What is going on here?"

"Just watch," Jarod instructed.

__

For Centre Use Only

_The woman on the table extended her hand to the man in the shadows, who  
stepped forward to take it. He turned his head and prompted, "Go ahead,  
Doctor."_

Miss Parker put a hand to her mouth. "Daddy."

"Yes. Brigitte, your father, and a fertility doctor from NuGenesis."  
Jarod recognized the doctor on the DSA as one who had been working at the  
NuGenesis lab a couple years ago.

"But… the Centre has a fertility doctor."

"Which leaves a very important question, needing a very important  
answer."

"Who are the donors?" The DSA turned to static and hiss again.  
"Is there more?"

"No. That’s all that wasn’t damaged." Jarod ejected the disc  
and handed it to Miss Parker. "I’m sure this is part of the  
message."

"Jarod, I…." She furrowed her brow. "Do you have a picture  
of the last victim?"

He nodded and retrieved the photograph from his desk, handed it to Miss  
Parker.

"I know her. Well, knew her. We had one class together in high  
school."

"Was she a friend?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "Not really. We talked sometimes, but I  
never knew she worked for the Centre."

"It has a long reach."

"There has to be more."

"The DSA was…"

Miss Parker cut him off, "Not the DSA. She had to have found something  
else. They wouldn’t kill her over a damaged DSA. She must have uncovered  
something else. Perhaps something about my mother? Or something my mother was  
working on?"

"I don’t know, Miss Parker. But you are right about one thing."

"What?"

"The Centre killed her. She’s not a victim of the serial killer."

"How can you be sure?"

"I was at the scene when the police collected the evidence. They found  
fibers from the fourth victim’s clothing. The other victims were found  
naked." He watched Miss Parker’s reaction to that word. "But, there  
was no indication they were stripped at the scenes."

"I’m guessing we have more investigating to do?"

"A little. We need to talk to Craig Van Allen, and with some of Michelle  
Maldonado’s friends."

"Maldonado, that’s the ex-girlfriend, right?"

Jarod nodded.

* * * * * * * * *

****

The Centre

**Broots' Office**

**Friday Morning**

Sam strode into the computer tech’s office, shifting around a stack of  
papers in the floor, and stopped just in front of the cluttered desk. "Mr.  
Broots, you said you might have some information?" He transferred the  
package for Miss Parker he was still carrying from one hand to the other.

"Yeah. Man, I never expected this, but when I tried to cross-reference  
against Centre itineraries again, I received a message telling me access to that  
area was restricted. Then, I tried to access personnel files; those were blocked  
too. Then," he put a finger in the air for emphasis, "I ran a program  
to counteract the firewall to get into some of the files, which got me in, but  
as soon as I opened Miss Parker’s file, my machine crashed and I had to  
re-boot."

Could this get any worse? Sam asked himself. Almost wishing the thought had  
not crossed his mind, he heard Broots begin another lengthy dissertation about  
the re-booting process and, yet another failure to retrieve the files. "Mr.  
Broots," Sam spoke up to quiet the tech’s tirade, "do you have  
anything helpful?"

Broots shuffled around on his desk and located a micro-cassette. He glanced  
at Sydney, a question in his face asking if he should give this information to  
Sam.

"Go ahead, Broots," Sydney said with a nod.

"Okay, well, I found this." He inserted the cassette into a player  
and handed the headset to Sam, pressing the &lt;PLAY&gt; button when Sam was  
ready.

Sam removed the headset. "Miss Parker was told by her father to not come  
in four days ago?"

"That’s what I thought, at first, but then I analyzed the tape, and  
the voice is her father’s, but the phrases were pieced together and played  
back to sound like one fluid instruction."

"If it wasn’t sent by her father, who then?" Sam folded his arms  
over his chest, cradling the package, growing tired of this dead-end chase.

"Um, I don’t know, but she did come in the day she received this  
message. The day she left early."

"All right, so either she didn’t get the message, or she chose to  
ignore it."

"Well, the time stamp on the answering machine tape was 6:02 AM. Miss  
Parker doesn’t leave for the Centre until almost 7:00AM."

"So, unless she failed to notice the message on the machine, she heard  
it and ignored it," Sydney spoke again.

"Sydney," Broots stated. "Do you really think she would ignore  
a message she thought was from her father?"

"Only if she realized it was not actually from her father."

"Are you saying she knew it was a fake?" Broots stammered.

"I’m not sure she knew, but Miss Parker is not a passive woman. If her  
father called to tell her to stay home, he would have a good reason and Miss  
Parker would want to know that reason."

"This still doesn’t tell us where she is," Sam stated.

"No. And without access to the necessary files, I won’t be able to  
find that information." Broots flailed at the computer that failed him.  
"Someone is cutting us off at every turn."

"Perhaps we should open the package," Sydney suggested.

"Syd, it’s a federal offense to open someone else’s mail," a  
confused Broots said.

"Yes, and I would not ordinarily condone such measures, but given the  
circumstances…"

"No." Sam’s firm voice ceased further comment on the subject.  
"My instructions were very specific. No one is to open this but Miss  
Parker."

"But it may help us find her."

"No. We’ll have to find another way." Sam’s adamant attitude  
was enough to convince Sydney and Broots. They would have to find another way of  
locating Miss Parker.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Local Police Station

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**Interrogation Room**

**Friday Evening**

"You’re wrong!" Sydor slapped a hand on the table. "Van  
Allen is our man and we’re going to charge him!"

"You can’t hold him without probable cause and the DA will never take  
this to trial with the evidence you have." Jarod had been trying to reason  
with Sydor for the last hour. He explained that with no evidence at the scenes  
and an alibi that checked, Craig would never be convicted. Miss Parker had said  
little, not sure where Jarod was going with this conversation.

"Get out of my interrogation room before I charge you and your friend  
with these murders!" Sydor rose from his chair and pointed to the door.

Jarod turned his head to Miss Parker, gave her a look, and nodded toward the  
door. She rose with him and exited the interrogation room. Two steps away, they  
heard the door of the interrogation room slam closed.

Nieuwendyk approached them. "What’s eating him?"

"He didn’t agree with our findings," Miss Parker snapped, not  
annoyed with Nieuwendyk, annoyed that she and Jarod had eliminated a suspect,  
but Sydor refused to acknowledge their findings.

"Why?" Nieuwendyk asked.

"Because they didn’t agree with his," Miss Parker stated firmly.

Nieuwendyk furrowed his brow. "Come with me." He led Jarod and Miss  
Parker outside to walk. "So, tell me what you’ve found."

Jarod recalled as they walked: "The most obvious is the alibi for Craig  
Van Allen. He and Leandra Marshall attended an art lecture at the university.  
Lea said she was with him the entire night, along with about four hundred other  
people. Craig gave the lecture."

"Okay, and Sydor ignored this?" Nieuwendyk asked, perplexed.

"We didn’t get a chance to point out the specifics," Jarod  
responded.

Nieuwendyk nodded.

"Is Sydor married?" A thought had struck Jarod; he remembered the  
ring he had found at the third crime scene.

Nieuwendyk nodded once, then shook his head. "Well, he was. His wife  
left him about six months ago. He took it pretty hard for about a day, then he  
seemed back to normal."

"Do you have a picture of her?" Jarod stopped walking.

"Yeah." Nieuwendyk pulled out his wallet and flipped to a  
photograph of Sydor and his former wife.

"Miss Parker," Jarod grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him,  
"take a look at this."

She gasped at what she saw. "Unbelievable."

"Exactly. You look just like her. Well, similar. If Sydor didn’t see  
it he’s blind."

"All right. So that explains his reaction, but…" Miss Parker  
stopped. "Jarod, does this mean…"

"That Sydor is our killer? Possibly. We need to go over the  
evidence."

* * * * * * * * *

"I don’t believe this." Nieuwendyk tossed a file to Jarod. "Sydor’s  
previous assignment. He had several assault charges filed against him."

"His wife?" Jarod asked opening the file.

"No. Other officers. He was reprimanded and transferred."

With a huff, Miss Parker said, "He attacks women and gets a slap on the  
wrist. Do we have any real evidence on our man-of-the-year?"

"Yes. Including the fact that he suspected Craig before the ID came back  
on Maldonado." Jarod ruffled his hair.

"She’s the ex-girlfriend, right?" Miss Parker waited for  
Jarod’s nod; he had answered that question for her three times already. Did  
she really not remember or was she just reinforcing a point? "Anything  
else?"

"The wedding band at the Maldonado scene." Jarod smiled at Miss  
Parker’s expression. "It was engraved with Sydor’s name and the date of  
his wedding. He didn’t realize it was missing until I found it at the  
scene."

"Jarod, that only links him to the third victim. What about the other  
three women?"

"Two," Nieuwendyk corrected.

"Right." Miss Parker closed her eyes and rubbed her temples; all  
this information was making her head spin.

"Only two of the other victims fit. Jarod found inconsistencies with the  
fourth victim. It looked more like a *copy-cat* killing." Nieuwendyk paused  
long enough to collect his thoughts. "There were clothing fibers found with  
the fourth body. The others only had the red, silk scarf. The fourth victim had  
faint contusions and slight abrasions on her body, as though she had been held  
against her will before she was strangled."

Jarod continued for Nieuwendyk, "And a closer examination of the  
evidence from the first victim revealed another piece of jewelry was left at the  
scene. Police initially thought it belonged to the victim, but we determined it  
actually belonged to Sydor’s ex-wife. The first three victims all had some  
type of personal relationship with Sydor and each was seen arguing with him the  
day before the body was found. I have not been able to pinpoint the catalyst for  
the arguments, but the rest should be enough."

"Does Sydor have an alibi for the murders?" Miss Parker asked,  
getting lost in what had been established and what had not.

"Not one that can be corroborated. He originally claimed to be with his  
partner, but J.T. told IAD a different story. The investigation was tabled when  
the fourth victim was found and Sydor had an airtight alibi for that crime. He  
*was* with J.T. then."

"So, IAD figured his alibi would check for the other three?"

"Not sure. IAD had a few problems recovering all of its evidence and had  
to drop the case."

"So, now what?"

"We get Sydor to confess."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Miss Parker cocked an eyebrow  
at Jarod, received a sly smile in return.

 

 

****

ACT IV

**The Centre**

**Sydney's Office**

**Friday Evening**

"Sam, that package…"

The sweeper turned the package over in his hands while Sydney spoke. He did  
not hear much, he was concerned about Miss Parker, knowing *his* ass was on the  
line if she did not return alive.

"Sam?"

"I’m sorry, Sydney. Did you say something?"

"I asked if you had any new findings from Broots?"

"No. He’s still running searches and diagnostics or something."  
Sam rubbed his eyes.

"When’s the last time you slept, Sam."

"Um, what day is this?"

"Sam, get some sleep. You can start fresh tomorrow," Sydney  
suggested, sounding very Ph.D.

The sweeper nodded and slowly rose from the chair, the package still in his  
hands. He knew Sydney had been watching him toy with it, but as much as he  
trusted Sydney, the package was staying with him. He left Sydney’s office,  
quietly, and began down the hall to the elevator.

Something made contact with his chest and he stopped. Broots. Sam sighed.

"Uh, I’m sorry, Sam. But I just found something."

"On Miss Parker?"

"Well, not exactly. More like, whoever it is that is shutting us out of  
the system."

"And…?"

"Right. Um, we can’t talk here. Come on." Broots led Sam back  
down the corridor, away from the elevator, and into his office.

"What, Mr. Broots?" Sam sighed, pushing the door closed.

"We're waiting for Sydney." A knock was heard at the door.  
"Come in," Broots responded.

"You wanted to show me something, Broots?" Sydney asked as he  
entered.

Broots said nothing, but motioned for Sam and Sydney to step closer. He wrote  
a code name on a piece of paper: BANE. The three men shared a look of mutual  
terror and whispered simultaneously: "Cox."

* * * * * * * * *

****

Day 6 -- Saturday

**Local Police Station**

**Socorro, New Mexico**

"Detective Sydor," he answered his ringing phone. "Yes,  
ma’am… What?… That’s not possible… You’re sure?… All right,  
where?" Sydor scribbled an address on a notepad and tore the sheet from the  
stack as he hung up the phone. "Come on, J.T. We have a witness to  
question."

Shrugging, Nieuwendyk rose and followed his partner.

* * * * * * * * *

****

Apartment Building

**Socorro, New Mexico**

**10 Blocks from Anderson-Dean University Campus**

**Saturday Morning**

Miss Parker saw the car approaching and sent the signal to Jarod. Sydor  
stepped from the car and strode to the door.

"You’re the anonymous caller?" he asked.

"The witness is this way." Miss Parker ignored his question and led  
the two detectives through a corridor and down a flight of stairs, through  
another corridor and into a darkened room. A small light cast an eerie, faint  
glow over a tall man in the center of the room.

"Can we get some light in here?" Sydor asked, straining his eyes to  
see the witness.

Miss Parker hit a switch and fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead.

"He’s not a witness! He’s a suspect!" Sydor snapped.

"You are right about one thing," Jarod began, stepping into the  
room, pulling a red, silk scarf through his fingers, "Mr. Van Allen is not  
a witness. However," Jarod pushed Sydor into a nearby, wooden chair,

"you are wrong about him being a suspect." A glance to Miss Parker  
sent her, Craig, and Nieuwendyk from the room into the corridor, and into a side  
room behind a two-way mirror.

Sydor shifted in the chair, uncomfortable about being alone in the room with  
this man. "Who are you?"

"That is of little importance, now, isn’t it?" Jarod tied the red  
scarf around Sydor’s neck.

"What…?"

"Ah, ah, ah. You only speak to respond to direct questions." Jarod  
pulled the shaken detective from the chair to stand in the center of the room.  
"And, for each incorrect answer, one article of clothing will be  
removed," Jarod explained. He waited for the tap against the mirror that  
signaled everything was set, and removed the detective’s weapons, phone, and  
handcuffs, tossing them aside. "First question: Where is your  
ex-wife?"

"I don’t know."

"Wrong." Jarod removed Sydor’s shoes and socks. "You called  
her last week, in Phoenix." Jarod stuffed the socks into the shoes and  
shoved the shoes across the floor. "Next question: Where were you the night  
Michele Maldonado was killed?"

Sydor swallowed. "I was with my partner, J.T., answering a call."

Jarod clucked his tongue in a *tsk* and wagged his finger at the barefoot  
detective. "I’m sorry, that’s wrong too." He pulled Sydor’s  
shirt free and tossed it in the general direction of the shoes. "You’re  
not doing very well. Maybe I should ask an easier question. What’s my  
name?"

Sydor gave Jarod a look that screamed *you’re kidding, right?*

"Failure or refusal to respond is the same as a wrong answer."  
Jarod took a step toward the detective.

"Wait. Your name is Jarod."

"Very good. Next question: How did you know to suspect Craig Van Allen  
in the murders?"

Sydor’s eyes fell to the floor. "There was evidence to support the  
accusation." Sydor raised his head as he spoke, confidently making eye  
contact with Jarod.

"I’m sorry, wrong again." Jarod pulled out the recently honed,  
butterfly knife Nieuwendyk had given him, expertly flipped it open, and shredded  
Sydor’s pants. The detective now stood in his undergarments with a red, silk  
scarf around his neck. "The only evidence that would have linked Craig to  
the third victim was not known until *after* you picked him up. The ID on  
Maldonado hadn’t come back and the only way for you to know that she was his  
ex-girlfriend would be if *you* were the killer!"

"Preposterous!" the detective snarled at the accusation.

"Wrong again!" Jarod slid the butterfly knife under the hem of  
Sydor’s undershirt and cut straight up to the neck, then pulled the shirt from  
the man’s arms. "You hated your wife for what she did to you! But,  
instead of killing her, you found women who looked like her and killed  
them!" Jarod’s accusatory tone struck hard.

"NEVER! I never killed those women. They did it to themselves. I tried  
to help them."

Jarod stepped in front of Sydor, the butterfly knife poised to remove the  
last article of clothing. "We found your wedding band at the Maldonado  
scene, and several witnesses saw you arguing with each of the women the day  
before each was killed. Your partner found a box full of red, silk scarves in  
the trunk of your car. All the evidence points to you!"

A long pause settled over the room between Jarod’s tirade and Sydor’s  
response.

Finding his voice again, the detective spoke, "They were all just like  
her. Beautiful, happy, nice, then they turned on me." His eyes narrowed and  
his voice deepened. "I had no choice. I tried to give them a scarf like I  
gave her, but they rejected me. You see? I had to do it. I tied the scarves  
around their necks to show them how nice they looked, and they still rejected  
me. So, I tied them tighter, until they stopped fighting." Sydor’s eyes  
seemed to glaze over and lose focus.

"Why did you leave them naked, outside?" Jarod coaxed, his voice  
calmer now.

"To humiliate them." Sydor’s voice held a maniacal timbre.  
"They didn’t deserve the pretty clothes they had." His head fell to  
his chest, his arms limp at his sides.

Jarod tapped on the mirror and waited for Nieuwendyk, Miss Parker, and Craig  
to enter the room. "Miss Parker, get the car ready. Craig, help J.T. with  
Daniel." Jarod watched the two men help the wilted detective into a robe  
and remove the scarf from his neck. He collected the video recording and dropped  
it into an envelope.

"Ready, Jarod?" Craig asked, stepping into the corridor behind  
Nieuwendyk and Sydor.

"Yeah. Let’s go."

* * * * * * * * *

****

Socorro, New Mexico

**Anderson-Dean University Campus**

**Saturday Afternoon**

"So, what’s going to happen to him?" asked Craig, sipping water.

"He’ll spend the rest of his life under close psychiatric observation  
and care. He has a lot to work out. He may never get over the fact that his wife  
left him, but, my guess would be, his psychiatric problems are much deeper than  
that." Jarod glanced to the young woman with the shining eyes and warm  
smile as she approached. "Lea, how are you?"

"I’m doing well."

"You did the right thing reporting those scenes. I know it wasn’t  
pleasant."

"I’m okay. I have Craig to talk to about it. I think I’ll be  
fine." She took Craig’s hand in hers and squeezed it. "What about  
the last victim?"

Nieuwendyk spoke up to answer this question. "No one’s claimed the  
body. There’s nothing more we can do. We’ll have to bury her."

"That’s so sad. To die alone," Lea commented.

"I wish there was more we could do, but with no evidence, and no further  
murders, we have little to go on and the case will go cold." Nieuwendyk  
knew his explanation did not assuage the young woman, but it was the best he  
could do; it was the truth.

Lea nodded, understanding the situation better. "Jarod," she waited  
for his acknowledgement, "where’s your friend?"

"Oh. Miss Parker? She had some important personal matters to attend  
to." A lie, but there was little else he could say.

"Tell her ‘thank you’ when you talk with her again."

"For me too," Craig added, extending his right hand to Jarod.

"I’ll do that." Jarod accepted the handshake and collected his  
belongings to embark on his next journey.

"Thank you, Jarod. While I hate doing this to my partner, I know it’s  
for the best." Nieuwendyk shook Jarod’s hand.

"You’re welcome." Slowly, Jarod walked away from the small group,  
brought closer together through a horrible tragedy.

 

 

****

Epilogue

**The Centre**

**Saturday Evening**

Sam approached and entered the office he had visited many times during the  
last week. "Miss Parker?" He was astonished to find her seated behind  
her desk, filtering through her mail.

"Yes, Sam, it’s me." She gave him a quick look and returned to  
her mail.

"Where have you been?"

She furrowed her brow and looked up at him. "None of your  
business."

"Miss Parker, I’ve been trying to get this urgent package to you all  
week." He held the large, stuffed envelope out to her.

Snatching the package from his hand, she sighed and pulled it open.  
"Probably another picture of me on an elephant," she snarled to  
herself. She poured the contents onto the desk and sifted through them. Pages of  
material she could hardly discern as English and a typed note fell from the  
package. The note was a warning to not go to New Mexico. "Now you tell  
me."

"What?"

"Never mind. Was there anything else, Sam?"

"No, ma’am. Just glad to have you back." The large sweeper turned  
and exited the office, relieved to have finally delivered the package he had  
toted around for a week. He passed Sydney on his way to the elevator. "Miss  
Parker’s in her office."

Sydney nodded and proceeded down the hall. "Did you have a nice  
trip?" he asked as he stepped into the office.

"No. Do you know anything about this?" She held up the stack of  
paper with the indecipherable coding.

Sydney shook his head. "No, Miss Parker. Nothing."

"Fine." She slapped the pages onto her desk and sighed heavily as  
she reached for the ringing phone. "What?"

"Hello, Miss Parker. How’s Blue Cove?"

"Jarod." She sat in her chair. "Thanks for the warning. It was  
a little late."

"What warning? I never sent you a warning." Jarod’s confused  
voice passed through the receiver.

"Then who sent me this message telling me not to go to New Mexico?"

"I don’t know."

"I guess you don’t know anything about the three-inch stack of pages  
of codes that came with it either?"

"I’m sorry. No. And I’m sorry about your friend."

"Yeah. Me too." She glanced to Sydney who was pretending to be  
interested in a piece of art on the wall. "What else do you suppose she  
found?"

"I don't know, but we should probably find out."

"Jarod…"

He knew she was concerned about the *warning* from The Centre. "Just be  
careful, Miss Parker." He disconnected the call and reclined in his  
hammock, opening and closing a butterfly knife.

**End**

*Lyrics from the song Paint Me Blue by Tabitha’s Secret


End file.
